


I Think it's Called Clara

by Atunenamedclara



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Guitars, Recovered Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:20:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atunenamedclara/pseuds/Atunenamedclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you were given one more day, one more chance to spend time with the man you used to love, how would you spend it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think it's Called Clara

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, a couple of things!  
> Firstly, massive thank you to @kapaldis over on twitter for the prompt, not sure if this is what they had in mind but heyo!  
> Incase it isn't clear in the fic, this is set post Hell Bent, 200 years or so for Clara and fairly recently for the Doctor.  
> I can never resist a bit of angst in my fluff so I hope this is satisfactory.  
> As always, please feel free to leave feedback or comments on here or tweet me over on @findmethestars! If you have any requests for future one shots please feel free to ask for them!  
> Enjoy!  
> Shira X

I flicked a switch, tapped a few buttons and pulled my scanner over to me to try and determine where I had somewhat erratically landed my Tardis this time.

I inhaled sharply as the fuzzy screen sorted itself out. I knew exactly where I was. I hadn’t been here in over 200 years, the memories too painful to even contemplate facing.

London. England. Earth.

I checked the year hastily, making sure I wasn’t going to cause a fracture across all of time and space by exiting my Tardis.

1964.

I flicked through my mind quickly, systematically cataloguing information as I went. The 1960s... the height of Beetlemania, the world was awash with rock music, edgy guitarists and boy bands trying to make it in the world. Perfect.

I grinned as I slung my guitar case over my shoulder and stepped out into the sunny streets of London.

\----- ----- ----- -----

The cobbled side streets were awash with people going about their daily lives, walking from shop to shop or hurrying with their heads down, rushing to tall concrete office blocks in the distance. Busses rumbled past and school children ran past me whilst a frazzled looking teacher shouted after them to slow down. I was glad to slip into the shade under the awning of a shop that proclaimed they sold “THE BEST SECONDHAND GUITARS IN ALL THE UNIVERSE!!”

I grinned as I walked in, the dusty bell chiming behind me. I used to know a man who would proclaim great and enthusiastic statements like that. 

“How can I help you? Or did you just come in for the view and the dust particles settling onto your shoes?” A deep Scottish growl greeted me and a man appeared from behind piles of cracked leather guitar cases.

I froze.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Not here.

But yet, here he was. He peered at me through his ridiculous sunglasses he would always insist on wearing.

I choked back a sob and bit the inside of my lip. He was here. My Doctor.

“Do I know you?” He asked me, a touch curious and a touch impatient.

“No I...never mind” I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into his arms, hold him tight, smell his familiar scent of old book, worn leather and that awful cologne I bought him for Christmas one year.

I wanted to ask him why he was here. I wanted to run away with him and battle aliens in narrow corridors. I wanted to save worlds and defeat enemies and never ever look back.

But instead I stuck my hand out and grinned warmly. “I’m...Ellie” I announced, for lack of a better name “Ellie Oswald. And you are?”

He took my hand and shook it politely, his warm grasp making me wish for days gone by when he would have pulled me in for a hug without a moment’s notice.

“I’m John Smith, but you can call me Doctor. Everyone does. Well except the old lady who pays my wage here. She said it’s a ridiculous name. But enough about her, what can I do for _you_ Ellie Oswald?”

“Can you teach me how to play guitar?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. I know how to play, of course I do. I have mastered every instrument on earth and then some in the last 200 years. But I have been granted the opportunity for a few short hours with the man I once loved and I will not pass those up for anything. I look up at him hopefully and blink once, twice, with my purposely enlarged eyes. A trick he never used to fail to fall for. I hope it still works.

His face softens and he holds out his hands in reluctant agreement.

“I don’t see why not. I have a few hours spare before I need to go somewhere. Take your guitar to the room second to the left off the side. I’ll go and fetch mine from my...room.”

I nod and pick my way through piles of amps, cords, guitars and strings. The way he hesitated before he said room means he has his Tardis here. Whatever he’s doing he’s here for business not pleasure. I grin wickedly. Nobody ever said it couldn’t be both.

\----- ----- ----- -----

“Alright, you put _this_ finger _here,_ and _this_ one _here._ Yes that’s right...now strum. Gently Ellie, gently! It’s a guitar not a machete!” He grumbles as he guides my fingers to the correct grooves on the polished metal.

“Oops! Sorry, my finger slipped! It’s just so hard!” I bat my eyelashes in an Oscar worthy performance. I can _feel_ the hitch in his breath as some deep rooted inaccessible memory tells him that this particular voice was one he used to very much enjoy hearing.

“Maybe...maybe if we played something together it would help me see how it’s meant to be done? I hedge, knowing that he can never resist a chance to show off.

“Well...if you insist I suppose I can play a quick something” He plugs his guitar in faster than I can inhale and strums a quick chord.

He runs his fingers up and down the guitar neck thoughtfully as he contemplates what to play.

He reaches a decision.

“I’m going to teach you a tune I wrote. It has a fairly simple chord progression. You should pick it up well enough to play” He indicates to me to copy the placement of his fingers.

“What’s the song called?” I know he had been working on a song the last time I saw him, I wonder if he’s finished it yet. I wonder how much time it’s been for him since we parted ways. He doesn’t look older, but then, he was always very good at hiding things.

A faraway look reaches his eyes and he smiles softly.

“It doesn’t have a name yet. But I think it’s called Clara.”

I open my mouth and then shut it again. The wounds time has yet to heal are visible on his face.

“ Why...Clara?”

“I had a friend called Clara once. Not so long ago. We travelled the world together. She taught me things about myself that I never could have learnt without her. I...lost her. I don’t know where she is now but this song makes me think that maybe, just maybe she’s ok. Foolish I know. The universe has no logical reason for sentimentality but...”

I place a finger over his lips gently.

“Shhh” I whisper. “Don’t talk. Show me.”

His eyes widen in unspoken understanding. Neither of us have to say a word. His eyes fill with a certain light as he drinks in my features.

“Show me” I whisper again, as I lead him to sit down in a darkened corner.

He places my fingers gently on the grooves, his breath loud in the otherwise quiet room. The air is still and it seems to shrink until we are the only people left in the universe, and all of time is waiting for us to dictate its ever move.

I strum gently, keeping my eyes on his face as I move my fingers up and down to the correct positions. I know this song. Of course I know this song. This song is intertwined with my life, I spend my good days allowing it to fill my head with thoughts of the past and on bad days it causes me to mourn for the future we could not have. But today the song lives in the present. Not in memories or bitter tears. It is fast and it is slow, it rises and falls in tempo and crescendo. Sometimes I play alone and sometimes he accompanies me. His fingers pick out tunes which wind their way around the one I am playing and add to the rise and fall of the music. My eyes blur with tears as I allow myself to become part of the emotion.

I may not be alive but today I am living. The music replaces the quiet in my chest, it takes over for a heart that has not worked for centuries. It silences the voices in my head which tell me I will be alone forever and allows memories to become _so much more_ than stories. It lets me remember things I have forgotten or not dared myself to think about. I see myself reflected in his eyes. His smile is wide as he leans his head back and laughs long and hard, the sound sweeter than any that could be produced on a musical instrument.

“Oh I’ve missed this” He says once our fingers have finally tired and I can no longer find the strength to live in the past and the future all at once. I don’t want to think about days long gone or days we could not have. I simply want to exist here, in this moment when everything is right again.

He fetches us two bottles of coke, and we sit on the floor to drink them, lips misting up the inside of the bottles.

We do not talk, do not bring ourselves to share words we cannot say. Instead we drink in the experience as if no time has passed at all. His hand finds mine and later, my head finds his lap as he strokes my hair absentmindedly.

“Why are you here?” I ask curiously, some hours later.

“Business. You?”

“An accident” I admit as I thread his fingers through mine.

“Oh Clara, there are no such things as accidents” he says wistfully, as if he really wants to believe that there is more to the universe than big coincidental incidents. Maybe if that were true then the future could hold hope for us. But we both know that’s not true.

The sky is turning dusky as he holds open the door for me later that evening. I have my guitar slung over my shoulder and my eyes are bright as I turn to him.

“Clara...”

“Don’t say it” I warn as I blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “We don’t say things. Don’t start now.”

He nods, respecting my wishes. “Is there any way you could stay? With me?”

“Oh Doctor, I think we both know that can’t happen.”

I wrap my arms around him tightly and inhale the familiar scent in. In return he buries his head in my hair and holds me closer than he ever has before.

I step back and stand on my toes. I kiss him lightly once, twice, three times.

“Goodbye Doctor.”

“Goodbye Clara Oswald. Thank you.”

I turn and walk down the ever darkening street. Silently I wipe away a tear and then give up, allowing them to run unchecked down my face.

Tomorrow I will mourn what we could have had. But today I will rejoice in what I did have.  _Most people_ do not get a second chance. But me and the Doctor were never _most people._


End file.
